


the great pretenders

by peterparkr



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [17]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (Very brief), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Con Artists, Gen, Heist, I love this little band of criminals so much, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, febuwhump 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparkr/pseuds/peterparkr
Summary: “Teach me,” the kid says.Tony looks over out of the corner of his eye. He brings his hands up behind his head, newly acquired Rolex jangling on his wrist. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”ORPeter’s an aspiring con artist, Tony and Rhodey are partners in crime in every sense of the phrase, and Pepper just wants a expensive painting to hang in her house
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620064
Comments: 20
Kudos: 198
Collections: I Found These Masterpieces And Fell In Love





	the great pretenders

**Author's Note:**

> Febuwhump Day 17: Mind Games
> 
> Disclaimer: I know very very little about crime, art, the layout of the Met, or how first-class works on airplanes

Aisle seats are a curse for boarding, but a blessing for the duration of the flight. To Tony, that makes them the clear choice. The pay-off is worth it, even more so in first-class, where the aisle’s wider—less chance of people knocking into him as they try to pass. 

So, when something hits his shoulder and drags across it, he tries to ignore it. The discomfort is a small price to pay for the benefits once the plane takes off. But when the sensation lingers for far longer than it should, he lowers his tablet and glances up. There’s a boy bumbling down the aisle, his absurdly long backpack strings the culprit of the disturbance. 

He squints at the kid as he continues farther into the plane. He’s 15, maybe 16, but with the clothing choice (a nerdy graphic tee) and the dopey smile he shines on the lady he sits next to, Tony can see how he’d be mistaken for as young as 13.

An unaccompanied minor in first-class isn’t unheard of by any means. A lot of the time it suggests money—of a trust fund, McMansion variety. But, the kid’s not doing anything to keep up appearances. If anything, he’s making it abundantly clear that he doesn’t belong here, looking around with an awed expression on his face, running his hands over the seat in front of him with a combination of delight and apprehension.

“It’s pretty cool up here,” he mumbles—but it’s like a stage-whisper, loud enough for everyone who doesn’t already have headphones in to hear. Tony sees a few people’s heads twitch in his direction.

The kid’s either stupid or brilliant. Tony leans back in his chair, content to wait to find out which.

“Do you fly a lot?” His voice is cheery and way too high—unnaturally so. 

Tony feels a grin start to creep onto his face. He sniffs once and tapers it down, locking his tablet to divert all of his attention to the performance that he’s about to watch unfold. He’s always loved some quality in-flight entertainment.

The boy’s seat neighbor flashes him a tired, verging on annoyed, smile and nods. “I travel for business all the time.”

“That’s so cool! This is only my third time flying _ever_ actually.”

The lady hums dismissively and angles her body away from the kid.

Tony snorts and then covers it with a cough.

The flight attendants’ safety instructions begin and the boy follows them with exaggerated enthusiasm, he takes out the little information card that nobody ever uses and mimics each motion that is demonstrated. He even raises his hand at the end, to ask clarifying questions.

It’s a little bit ridiculous, very annoying, and overall kind of clever. He’s pulling moves that Tony hasn’t been able to use in decades.

The boy’s demeanor flips the instant the cabin lurches forward. He practically jumps in his seat and grips the arm rests. His ragged breathes start to draw other passengers’ attention as he ducks his head down between his knees. 

Tony shakes his head and clicks his tongue a few times. He’s overdoing it now. The worst part is that it will still work. 

Sure enough, the woman next to him leans over, settling a comforting hand on his back.

Tony feels himself starting to pout a little. He misses his glory days. It’s so much easier for the youth. Children are much more pitiful and trustworthy-looking than a guy on the wrong side of—thirty? Forty? He’s starting to lose track—could ever hope to be.

If Rhodey was here, he’d be telling him to get over himself. Tony can practically hear it. Or maybe the voice in his head just sounds like Rhodey these days. He wouldn’t be surprised. 

“Sorry,” the boy gasps. “It’s just, my parents died in a plane crash—so I get really nervous.”

Tony watches the woman’s face change. All the usual barriers that people tend to put up for strangers start to fall. Everyone’s a sucker for an orphan. The kid chose a good target, too. The woman’s a little above middle-age—probably an empty-nester or close to it. She’s probably starting to nag her oldest for grandchildren. 

She waves down one of the flight attendants and orders the boy a ginger ale. 

“I’ve been so worried about this flight that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday,” the kid mutters into his hands.

The woman adds a whole inflight meal to her request.

Fifteen minutes later, the kid has the whole first-class lounge wrapped around his finger. He’s received at least two meals, plus a few desserts, and about a dozen cartons of apple juice. Someone has offered to pay for his ride from LAX. Another has given him a wad of cash to buy food for the duration of his stay. 

“What’s bringing you to California anyway?” the guy in the row in front of the kid asks.

The grin slowly falls off the kid’s face. Tony bites his lip to repress a smile.

“My uncle’s funeral is this weekend,” he whispers.

The silence in the cabin settles like a thick blanket. Biting his lip isn't cutting it. Tony clamps a hand over his mouth, but doesn't quite contain a chuckle. The person next to him jabs his elbow into his side. Tony offers him a shrug.

It’s time to knock the kid down a few pegs.

Tony stands and makes his way to the woman he picked out when he boarded. She’s got certain aura about her—a ‘young wife married to an ancient asshole with a bank full of more cash than he knows what do do with’ sort of vibe. Tony can respect that. If his life had taken a few different turns here and there he’d probably be that person. He’s still going to take her necklace. The husband can buy her a new one, if she ever realizes it’s gone.

He leans on her seat, starts chatting like he’s known her his whole life. She looks confused at first, but slowly her smile eases. Once she’s comfortable, Tony points out the diamond.

“That’s gorgeous—Cartier?”

“Yes! A gift from my husband.”

Her voice shifts a little on the word ‘husband’, wavering with a note of disgust. Tony smirks. He’s never wrong.

 _Don’t even get me started on that one,_ the Rhodey in his head cuts in. _Would you like me to list a few counter-examples?_

“Maybe later, honey bunches,” Tony murmurs.

The crease between the woman’s eyebrows returns. “What was that?”

“Husband,” Tony says quickly. “Your husband. Lucky man.”

She blushes and laughs, staring down at her feet. “How’d you know it was Cartier, are you a diamond guy?”

_You’re in._

Tony gives Rhodey a mental high-five, but outwardly he winces, then leans forward, cupping his hand around his mouth. “I sort of own the joint.”

Her eyes fly wide. “You—?”

He holds a finger to his lips. “Our secret?”

She nods, at a loss for words.

Tony extends a hand to shake on it. When she takes it, he brings her knuckles up to his lips and kisses them.

Then he lets go and gestures to the necklace. “May I?”

She squints a little, but nods—smile never dropping. Tony unhooks it from the back of her neck and holds it up to the light.

“It’s what—two seasons ago? I could polish it for you—it’ll only take a second. I know some tricks they don’t tell you.”

“Oh, please, that would be incredible!"

Tony grins, turns slightly to the side. He fishes in his pocket for the polishing kit he carries around and the knock-off Cartiers that he made in his lab. He has a few different cuts on him. He feels around until he gets the right shape of diamond. 

He sets the polishing kit on the woman’s airplane tray. Her eyes follow it and he quickly shuffles the necklaces in his hand, sliding the real one into his pocket.

“There you go,” Tony says as he finishes polishing the fake. “Good as new.”

“Thank you!”

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

He flashes her his winning grin-wink combo. Rhodey says it's sleazy, but Tony refuses to believe him. It always works wonders.

He waits a few seconds, timing his next move out of the corner of his eye before stepping back into the aisle right as one of the flight attendants is trying to squeeze past him.

The flight attendant gasps as the red wine he’s holding spills down the side of Tony’s light gray suit. Tony feigns a stumble forward, knocking the glasses out of the attendant’s hands and sending them shattering to the floor. He lets his momentum carry him all the way down after them and then kneels, hissing and grabbing his wrist like he’s hurt. Whether it’s a sprained wrist or a cut from the glass, he won’t have to specify. If they fell for the teenager’s antics, surely they’ll fall for this. 

“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry—are you alright?”

Tony grimaces. The woman who he took the necklace from is out of her seat. She looks so concerned. It almost makes him feel bad. Almost.

She grabs one of his shoulders and the flight attendant grabs the other and they help him to his feet.

He keeps his eyes squeezed shut—as if he’s in great pain and turmoil. Rhodey likes that look better than the winking one. He says it’s more natural on his face, like it’s at home there—whatever that means.

“Are you okay?” The woman squeezes his shoulder.

“Yeah, I—I’m good.” He blinks a few times, sees the faces of almost everyone in first class turned to watch the scene he’s created. The only people who don’t look some degree of worried are the boy and one guy in a truly atrocious lime green button-up who glares at Tony and then rolls his eyes. Tony ignores him—for now—and focuses on the teenager, giving him a subtle wink. It’s so small that it could just be a tiny muscle spasm to anyone else watching too closely. The boy still catches it, eyes widening. 

“It’s just—I’m a recovering alcoholic.” Tony gestures to the stains, making sure his hands tremble. “This is a lot. I’m going to—”

Tony starts slapping their hands off of him and pushing past.

The flight attendant looks a few shades paler than he was. “Sir—wait, let me—I’m so sorry.”

Tony staggers down the aisle and into the bathroom. He slides the door shut, locks it, and leans back against it, humming as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He starts a timer for 15 minutes—enough time to really make them sweat, but not so much that the crew will take to drastic measures and pry the door open from their end.

He starts scrolling through emails as the offers begin to roll through the thin wall that separates him from the rest of the cabin. They offer free meals, refunds, hotel points, vouchers for future flights that grow in value each minute that he forces them to wait. They give him almost everything they have to offer, short of signing the airline over to him. 

“I accept,” Tony mumbles under his breath as he continues scrolling. “Thank you very much.”

When the timer goes off, he slides the door open and walks back down the aisle, the flight attendant and someone who must be his superior right on his heels. When he passes the offensive green shirt, he picks the watch off the guy’s wrist for good measure.

The flight attendant repeat the offers that Tony already heard through the bathroom wall. He looks back at them blankly, sees the fear in their eyes that he’ll demand something more, convince all of his friends to boycott their flights, or sue them for all they’re worth. If he was the well-connected, filthy-rich CEO that they thought he was, he could destroy the company with a single word. And they know that. He can see it reflected in their eyes. He gives them a second to sit with it.

Then he shoots them a good-natured smile. “That’s awfully nice of you. Thank you.”

“Of course,” the flight attendant gushes. “I’m so sorry. Again. So sorry.”

He reaches out and grabs his hand with another toothy grin. “Don’t sweat it. Just don’t forget vouchers.”

They leave with a few more apologies and confirmation about Tony’s rewards. He makes the rest of his way back to his seat.

His neighbor has changed. He can’t say he’s surprised.

He pretends he doesn’t notice, easing himself down into the seat, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“Teach me,” the kid says.

Tony looks over out of the corner of his eye. He brings his hands up behind his head, newly acquired Rolex jangling on his wrist. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shit,” the kid mutters. “You snatched a watch, too. I didn’t even see that.”

Tony lowers his left hand and looks down at it as if that’s news to him, then chuckles and locks his arms back behind his head.

“C’mon man, that was awesome. I’m a quick learner. I can help you! Think of the things you could accomplish with a sidekick.”

“I don’t need a sidekick. Thanks for the offer, though. Flattered.”

“Everyone could use a sidekick—I could use a sidekick!”

“Then go find yourself one.”

“No that’s not—okay, I didn’t want to have to do this, but I really am an orphan—”

“And I’m really a recovering alcoholic. What’s your point?”

“ _And_ my uncle died, too. That’s all real. Since he died, well, it’s just me and my aunt—”

“If you’re looking for sympathy, kid, you’re not going to get it from me.” Tony closes his eyes again. “Go back to wheedling these chumps for all they’re worth.”

“They are kind of stupid,” the boy says, and then his voice rises as if he’s afraid Tony’s going to reprimand him. “But in a nice way! Some of them. The lady I was sitting next to was really sweet.”

Tony hums and angles his body away from Peter.

“You saw what I got out of them. I felt you watching. I didn’t know why until you started doing your thing. I sort of thought you might be an undercover cop or something.” He laughs, nervously. “But instead, we’re like, the same, you know? I really think I could help you—”

Tony groans and rolls back to face the kid. “What’s your name?”

“Peter Parker,” he chirps.

Tony squints at him. “Is that your real name?”

Peter’s face pales a little. “Er—no?”

“Sure it isn’t.” Tony shakes his head. “Like I said, Parker, I don’t need a sidekick, and I definitely don’t need a sidekick who gives out his real name to people with zero hesitation. _And_ I wouldn’t call my sidekick a sidekick. What am I supposed to be—a hero?”

“I’m—maybe? If you want, I could call you one. Do you want me to call you one?”

Tony scoffs. “I’m no hero.”

“Okay,” Peter says, slowly. “Can I be your not-sidekick then?”

Tony fishes his headphones out of his bag and sticks them into his ears with a pointed look at Peter. He shoves his sunglasses on and doesn’t open his eyes for the rest of the flight.

* * *

Tony quickly learns that Peter Parker doesn’t have an off switch. He doesn’t stop chattering once during the flight. Tony can hear him like a little buzz beneath the music streaming out his headphones.

It doesn't stop when the flight ends either. Peter chatters at Tony as they walk off the plane. He chatters at Tony as the airline workers hand him paperwork and vouchers for the incident. He chatters at Tony as they walk to the baggage claim. He chatters at Tony as he walks outside to meet his Uber.

“We could share a ride! Save the planet.”

“Kid.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re pushing it.”

“It’s better for both of us! We’ll split the cost. Did I mention the planet?”

“I know for a fact that the one guy gave you a wad of cash for a ride. Use that. Get a taxi.”

Peter’s eyes shift around. Tony catches a hint of genuine nerves behind them before the kid grins again. “But this way I can pay you half of it and keep the rest.”

The Uber pulls up to the curb. Peter waves his cash tantalizingly in the air. Tony’s eyes linger on it. 

“If you make me regret this, I’ll kill you.”

“Haha, very funny. You’re a con artist, not a murderer.”

Tony raises his eyebrows then turns away from Peter. He waves to the driver and opens the back seat, closing the door behind him and refusing to slide through so that Peter has to jog around the car to get in on the other side.

Peter gives Tony a nervous look as he does just that. He leans over, speaking in hushed tones. “No disrespect to murderers if you are one. Just don’t like, kill me? Please?”

Tony blinks. “I’m not a goddamn murderer.”

“Oh good, because I don’t really condone murdering. It’s sort of one of the lines I draw. Actually I draw the line pretty far before that—I don’t hurt anyone, you know? And I try to only—“

“Parker. Shut up or get out of the car.”

“Yup. Okay. Sorry.”

It’s silent for a blissful twenty seconds. That’s all Tony gets before—

“It’s just—you know my name, so could I get yours?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Not even a fake one? Just something I can call you?”

“No.”

“That makes it kind of difficult. How do I get your attention?”

“Look, kid, I’m never going to see you again after this car stops. There will be no need to get my attention.”

That does the trick. The rest of the ride to Tony’s hotel is silent, except the thinking. Peter Parker thinks almost as much as he talks—and almost as loud. He’s gearing up for his next bout of speech. Tony dreads the moment it all starts to tumble out of him again.

As soon as the car stops, Tony jumps out and slams the door shut behind him. Peter reopens it and scrambles to catch up to Tony as he wheels his suitcase toward the hotel.

“Mr—um—see!? This is the part where I need to get your attention!”

Tony comes to a quick halt, suitcase wheels scraping on the pavement. He turns around and holds out his hand for the cash. Peter counts it off and deposits it on Tony’s palm.

“So, you don’t like the word sidekick, right? Well how about protégé or apprentice or—”

“Ew. Those are worse somehow.”

“How about assistant?”

Tony cocks his head and mulls the word over. “Better. But it’s still a no.”

“Okay, closer to assistant. Let me think. I’ll come up with something.”

Tony takes a deep breath. He places a hand on each of Peter’s shoulders and shakes him. “The word doesn’t matter. It’s a no, Parker, a _firm_ no. I work alone. The last thing I need is some punk-kid to look after.”

Peter’s face changes from the faux-innocent expression to something almost completely neutral. It does a funny thing to Tony’s stomach—not that he feels any sympathy for the kid, because he doesn’t. It’s just that he recognizes that. The habit of only using expressions for the show, locking them away for the real emotions.

It doesn’t seem as natural for Peter as it had been for Tony. Probably because Tony’s pretty sure he knew how to have his guard up before he could fully talk. He was meant to be this way. Something tells him Peter wasn’t.

It’s still not sympathy. The kid will get through it. Tony had to.

“Are you in school?”

Peter’s eyebrows knit together. “Er—yeah.”

He almost asks more—because he’s curious, trying to piece together Peter’s life through the few details that he knows. The kid just got off a transcontinental flight, scammed half the passengers in first class, on a Tuesday in the middle of February. But apparently he’s still in school. 

“That’s important shit. Stay in school.”

He grabs the handle of his suitcase and walks toward the entrance of the hotel, watching Peter inconspicuously out of the corner of his eye. The kid doesn’t move, fiddles with his hands a bit.

A very vivid image of Rhodey shaking his head pops to the forefront of Tony’s brain. _Keep it moving, Tones. Don’t go getting any ideas._

“I’m not,” Tony whispers as the automatic doors to the hotel slide open.

“The thing is—”

Tony pauses. He’s not sure why.

“I don’t really have anywhere to stay.”

Tony half-turns back with a sigh and a quirked eyebrow. “And?”

“And—er—maybe I could stay with you! I’ll pay you for half the room—over half! The whole thing? I could probably swing the whole thing. I’m just technically too young to get a hotel room, you know?” He shines his lop-sided, hopeful, grin up at Tony.

He snorts. “I’ve seen you work, kid. You can get yourself a room.”

“I’ve never been to California before. I don’t—I don’t know where to start.”

The kid’s like a little puppy. Those are puppy dog eyes. Ridiculous. “Not going to work on me! Go try someone else.”

“But—”

“Good luck with your life and all that. You have a bright and promising criminal future. Quote me on your resume.”

The doors slide closed a few seconds after Tony walks through them. He spares a few glances back outside as he checks in at the front desk, but the entranceway is empty.

* * *

Tony talks his way into the continental breakfast that his room apparently did not include. And people call him a scammer.

He pours himself a cup of coffee and piles some fruit and scrambled eggs onto a plate and then settles in at a table next to a window.

It looks like a nice day, sunny. It’s far better here this time of year than back in New York. 

And then he notices the bench across the street. There’s something—or someone—on it. And there’s a backpack next to it. The same tan Jansport that Peter had on yesterday.

“Aw, fuck,” Tony mumbles under his breath.

He gets up, coffee still in hand, and leans toward the window until his face is nearly pressed against it. He squints a little, making out Peter’s mousy hair and his scrawny arms folded across that same graphic tee.

Tony shakes his head a few times, then takes a long sip of the coffee. He taps the fingers of his other hand on the windowsill.

Strangely enough, his predominant emotion seems to be guilt. It doesn’t make sense, because this is clearly not his fault. He’s not responsible for a random stranger that he shared a ride with. Even if that stranger happens to be a child. Especially when he knows that said child has the ability to swindle his way into any hotel on this block. There’s no good reason for him to be laying on a bench outside.

“What an idiot,” he murmurs, shaking his head again.

He finds himself grabbing his coat and walking to the door, swiping a couple of hand-fruits on his way out.

He pauses a few feet from the bench. The kid’s eyes are closed and he’s shivering a little because even though it’s nicer than New York, it’s still not warm at this hour of the morning when you’ve slept on a bench all night in a thin t-shirt. 

There’s only one thing to do. Tony holds out a banana and drops it directly onto Peter’s stomach.

The kid gasps and jolts up. The fear in his eyes eases a little when he recognizes Tony. Then he looks down at the banana.

“Is this for me?” He holds it up, a grin settling onto his face. “Thanks, man.”

“You know, if I were a murderer, a pipsqueak sleeping on a bench is where I would start.”

The grin widens. “Good thing you’re not a murderer, then.”

“If this is a move to get me to teach you, it’s a terrible one. Nobody wants to mentor someone who’s stupid.”

Peter takes a bite of the banana and chews it thoughtfully. “So we’re going with mentor, then? I’m your mentee, you’re my mentor?”

“No, I’m the person who’s going to ensure that you get back to that aunt of yours in one piece.”

With that Tony turns on his heels back in the direction of the hotel. He hears rustling behind him and rushed footsteps a second later.

“Thank you. You won’t regret this. I’m a really quick learner—”

“As I said, not mentoring you, strictly keeping you from dying.”

“I’ll prove it to you, don’t worry.”

As they walk past the breakfast room, Tony waves at the person in charge of collecting the fancy little breakfast ticket that should be illegal. 

“My son needs food,” he says, easily. 

Peter’s eyes flick over to him and then he squares his jaw and looks defiantly at the ticket collector. 

“I just watched you grab that boy off the bench outside. I can see through the _glass_ doors.”

Peter opens his mouth and Tony slaps his hand over it. 

“Listen, buddy,” he says to the ticket collector. “We’ve already been through this once, today. We both know you’re going to let him go in eventually. It’s just a question of now or five minutes from now.”

The man stares at Tony for a moment and then sighs. “I don’t get paid enough to stop you, do I?”

Tony nods and then slaps him on the back. “That’s my man.”

He steps aside and waves Peter into the dining room.

“We leave in ten,” Tony calls after him.

Peter shoots him a thumbs-up.

* * *

Seventeen minutes, two threats (to Peter), and a little bit of schmoozing (at the check-out desk) later and they’re finally standing in front of the car.

Rhodey rolls down the window, eyes narrow in on Peter immediately before turning on Tony. “Didn’t you learn your lesson with strays?”

Tony decides to ignore the comment and slides into the passenger seat instead, leaning across the console to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Peter stays on the sidewalk, looking back and forth between Rhodey and Tony. “I thought you said you worked alone.”

“I do. Rhodey’s part of alone.”

His eyes cloud over with confusion. “What?”

“Just get in.”

“Oh god,” Rhodey mumbles. “Seriously? He's coming with us?”

“Seriously?” Tony parrots in an obnoxious voice. “Yes, seriously.”

Peter gets in the car and shifts into the middle of the back seat, shrugging off his backpack and folding his hands in his lap. Rhodey stares at him in the rearview mirror.

“Who is he, Tones?” 

“Who?”

Rhodey sighs. “The kid.”

“Kid? What kid?” Tony looks around the car and then jabs his thumb toward Peter. “Oh, this kid? Thought he might have been a figment of my imagination.”

Rhodey sighs. It’s at least 40% fond. As long as that stays over 20, Tony’s in the clear. He grins and cocks his head to the side. “Miss me?”

“Nope.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “Bummer.”

“Who’s the kid?”

“This is Peter Parker—that’s his real name, by the way. Parker, meet Rhodey—not his real name, a variant. See how that’s done?”

Peter’s cheeks turn red, he ducks his head for a moment and then looks back up and waves. “Hi, Mr. Rhodey.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter,” Rhodey says pleasantly, before whirling back around to Tony. “Why’s he here?”

“You know what? I don’t know the answer to that.” Tony points at Peter. “Why are you really in California?”

“Tony. You know that’s not what I meant. Why is he here, in our car—”

“I had to do a favor for someone,” Peter pipes up.

“Vague.” Tony nods approvingly. “You’re learning. If I was your mentor, I would be proud.”

Peter’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Tony,” Rhodey cuts in, warning.

“But! Since I am not your mentor. I’m going to need a little more information.”

“What kind of information?”

“Start at the beginning.”

“The beginning of what? My life?”

Tony shrugs. “Works for me.”

Peter hesitates, eyes flicking over to the door handle. The locks aren’t on. Part of Tony has the urge to flip them, really scare the shit out of the kid. Ten years ago he probably would have.

“Look, kid. You gave me your full name and I’m staring at your face. If I wanted to, I could own your whole identity.” Tony watches Peter gulp uncomfortably and can’t contain a snicker. “Relax. I’m not going to do that. I’m just saying, you’ve got nothing to lose. Go on.”

Peter glances at the door again, then up at Tony, then down at his hands. He laces his fingers together and then frees them, laces them again.

“Well,” he finally says. “My parents died when I was a kid so I’ve always lived with my aunt and uncle. And then when my uncle died about a year ago—it was hard, you know, because we’ve never really had too much money. And then we had even less. My aunt’s a nurse, so she does make some but not—like—” Peter’s foot starts to tap. “A lot. Because she tries to be a good parent, too. She wants to be around. So I do this now. But not, like, just for me, you know?”

Tony rubs his hand over his chin. “So this ‘favor’ of yours? The reason you’re here in Cali. That falls in the ‘not, like, just for you’ category then?”

“Er, yeah. I was bringing some money to this—”

Rhodey groans. “Oh, boy. Tony is he in drugs because—”

“Oh my god, no.” Peter’s head is shaking back and forth so quickly that Tony wouldn’t be surprised if he gave himself whiplash. “I don’t do drugs. Or sell drugs. Or anything with drugs. It’s for this kid I met. He’s younger than me. Does some small stuff, mostly just pickpocketing, you know? He had to get some cash to his brother who’s out here and his mom’s pretty sick so he didn’t want to leave her. Dropped it off last night after you ditched me.”

Tony stares at him. He doesn’t bother refuting the ‘ditched’ comment. “So you flew across the country. To bring an acquaintance's brother some cash.”

“Yeah. Thought I could make some profit on the flight. And I did,” he adds the last bit with a note of pride.

“Don’t you guys use venmo, paypal, something?”

Peter’s brow furrows. “He said it had to be cash.”

“Yup. Sounds like drugs,” Rhodey chimes in matter-of-factly.

If the way that Peter’s face scrunches up is any indication, it’s the first time he’s given the possibility any thought

“Well, if it was—big ‘if’ kid, don’t lose your shit on me,” he assures when Peter’s eyes start to bulge out. “If it was, it was an accident. He’s not a dealer, Rhodey.”

“It doesn’t really matter. Are you completely forgetting about Harley?”

Tony sighs and massages his temples. 

“Who’s Harley?” Peter asks.

“Now that’s a question,” Tony replies. “That is quite a question, attached to an incredibly long story, with many, many circumstantial—”

“Tony decided to take in a scrawny mini connie and the kid robbed us blind,” Rhodey supplies.

“What a little legend,” Tony mumbles. “He’s going to take over the world someday. Just wait.”

“That shouldn’t be your main take away, love.”

“Well, clearly, Peter isn’t the same as Harley.” Tony gestures toward him. “He just said it. He’s the Robin Hood type. Which I’ll admit, is a little unorthodox, a bit naive, can’t relate to it, but he’s not going to take anything from us.”

Rhody shoots him a skeptical look.

“Anyways, we’re not taking him in. I’m just keeping him from sleeping on benches until I can get him back to his aunt’s. Then boom. The end. Story over.”

Rhodey looks up at Peter in the rearview mirror again. “You slept on a bench? Why didn’t you just talk your way into a room somewhere?”

“I don’t really like taking advantage of people, you know? Unless I know they’re super rich or kind of awful. I didn’t want to mess up some poor employee’s night.”

Rhodey’s eyes narrow and he turns to Tony. “Am I missing something here?”

“Ah.” Tony takes off his glasses and wipes them on his shirt before pointing them at Peter. “Forgot to mention. He’s an idiot.”

“Wait, what?” Peter says.

Rhodey tilts his head to the side as if considering it, and then nods. He shifts the car into drive and they take off.

* * *

“This is your house?”

Tony watches Peter twirl around in circles in the entrance way. He did the same thing in the driveway when he he saw the outside. 

“Like, you live here.” Peter points at the ground, eyes wide and incredulous.

“Take notes, kid.” Tony pats his shoulder as he walks past him. “This is what awaits a lifetime of successful thievery and scamming.”

“Oof, a lifetime, Tones? You calling us old?”

“Not me, just you.” Tony turns to Peter. “He’s older. By many years. You can tell, right?”

The kid opens his mouth. “Er—”

“Many years? Try three and a half.”

He whips back around to Rhodey. The math doesn’t compute in his head. They celebrated Rhodey’s fiftieth a few months back. But that would make him—he pushes the thought away and shakes his head. “Three and a half? Are you sure?”

“It’s been the same since we met.”

“Oh god,” Tony whispers. “How old am I?”

Peter’s wandering around the foyer, touching things, running his hands over the walls just like he had the seats on the plane. Maybe it wasn’t all an act after all.

“No offense, Mr. and Mr. Rhodes, but why do you keep stealing stuff if you’ve already got all of this?”

“Well,” Rhodey says. “Tony was accustomed to a certain way of living.”

“Hey,” Tony complains, swatting at the side of his arm. “Also, if I could just point out, this is no where near that 'certain way of living.'”

“Well, we landed somewhere in the middle,” Rhodey says, wrapping his arm around Tony’s shoulders.

Peter sits on the edge of the couch as if he’s afraid to ruin it. “What does that mean? ‘Certain way of living’.”

“Loaded question.” Rhodey squeezes Tony’s shoulder once, then lets go, grabbing Tony’s suitcase and walking in the direction of their room. “I’ll let you explain that one, while I put this away.”

Two things very high on Tony’s list of least favorite things are leaving clothes in suitcases and unpacking them. It often leaves him at an impasse.

“Love of my life,” he sings at Rhodey’s retreating figure.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhodey calls back.

“Alright,” Tony says, clapping his hands together and turning to Peter. “Look, we don’t have to go through my personal history, right? That’s not something you’re dying to know.”

“No, I—” Peter sits on the very edge of the couch, as if he’s afraid to touch it. He crosses his legs and then uncrosses them. “I want to hear it. I told you mine.”

“Right. Well. You don’t have to—” Tony waves his hand around in front of him, like he can magic the scene into something more normal. “Sit like that.”

Peter shifts a little, but it doesn’t make the overall effect much better. Tony sighs and starts pacing in front of the couch.

“When I was fifteen,” Tony says slowly. “I went to college. That’s where I met Rhodey, actually.”

Peter’s head twitches to the side, a skeptical tilt to his chin. “Fifteen?”

“Correct. Don’t interrupt me.” Tony waits a few seconds to see if Peter will try, then continues, ”So I’m in college, Rhodey’s my roomie. I’m a bit too ostentatious, in all the wrong ways, for my old man’s tastes. Pushed too many of his buttons in an argument one day during my—was it my Junior year, honey?”

“Sophomore!” Rhodey yells.

Tony nods. The whole altercation was over the phone of course. Howard never would have come to visit him. Tony remembers picking the fight, something about SI, mostly to captivate his father’s attention for a few moments, just to keep him on the line. It worked a little too well.

“So, he decided to cut me off. No access to our fat old bank account. Jarvis tried to slip me some of his own money, but I couldn’t do that to him.”

“Who’s Jarvis?” Peter interjects.

“”A great man. Long story. Not the point. What did I say about interrupting? Anyway, me and the old man kept going at it. Eventually he made the cut-off permanent—I’m talking disownment territory. I didn’t have anything to eat or—”

“I cooked for you, you idiot,” Rhodey calls from the other room.

Tony shakes his head and mouths ‘wasn’t edible’ to Peter, whose mouth stretches into a grin.

“I heard that!”

Tony frowns. “I literally didn't say anything.”

“I can envision the face you’re making right now. “

They've definitely been together too long. Tony wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Then my dad ran the story that I had died. Essentially faked my death. I rolled with it. Haven't looked back. And I couldn't rely on Rhodey or Jarvis to give me everything. Couldn't hold down any real jobs between classes and being a sixteen year old. So I resorted to more morally grey methods, dragged Rhodey into the alluring life of crime with me and voila.” Tony gestures around the house. “Here we are.”

Peter’s jaw has gone a little slack. He’s looking at Tony like he’s seeing him for the first time. “You’re Tony Stark, aren’t you? Oh my god.”

Tony blinks. “You got that quick.”

“I was just watching a video about you! Do you know how many conspiracy theories there are about what really happened? Most people think your parents killed you.”

“Oh, you mean my father’s heartfelt speech at the televised funeral wasn’t convincing? That crying didn’t look real to you?”

Tony looks up and grins at the sound of Rhodey snorting from the other room. Peter glances over too, but then quickly refocuses on Tony, eyes glazed over in awe.

“Not at all,” Peter mumbles, then louder. “You know, my friend would love this. She’s really into big cover-up stuff and conspiracies. Not that I would tell anyone.”

No one would believe you if you did,” Tony supplies with a shrug.

* * *

Th kid told his aunt that he would be back from his class trip on Sunday, so Tony and Rhodey are stuck with him for the better part of a week.

On the first day, Peter entertains himself, walking around the house, seemingly still in awe of the premises. Tony’s content to let him do just that for the remainder of their time together, but by the second day, the novelty wears off. Tony finds the kid sitting on the balcony, not moving, just staring out at _nothing._ He times him for an hour and thirty-seven minutes. There’s absolutely no movement.

“What do we do?” he hisses to Rhodey.

He seems just as uncomfortable with the situation, studying the back of Peter’s silhouette uncertainly. “Maybe we should take him somewhere?”

“Okay. Yes. I like that.” Tony rubs his hands together. “Where?”

After another hour of brain-storming, in which Peter continues to sit, motionless, on the balcony, Tony finally opens the sliding door and steps out.

“Oh, hi,” Peter says.

“The beach,” Tony blurts out. “Do you want to go? There’s a boardwalk.”

“Um.” Peter glances inside. Tony follows his gaze, and sees Rhodey trying to look like he’s not watching them. “Sure?”

Thirty minutes later, they’re walking down the boardwalk. The one good thing about Peter’s lack of an off-switch is that once he gets going, his perpetual word vomit can stave off most awkward silences.

Case in point: Rhodey asks him about his favorite subject and Peter launches into an endearing info-dump about what he’s learning in his physics class. 

Then a father catches Tony’s eye. He’s distracted, trying to calm three kids, all under the age of five. His outfit is out of place on the boardwalk, designer blazer and dress shoes that flash red soles when he lifts his feet. There's an expensive watch around his wrist, and Tony would wager that there's an equally expensive wallet in one of his pockets.

Tony nudges Rhodey. “There’s a good one.”

He follows Tony’s gesture and nods.

“I usually don’t go for parents when they look annoyed with their kids,” Peter cuts in. “They’re more likely to project that on to me, I think.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony asks. “Who would you pick, then?”

Peter scans the boardwalk. His face relaxes when he finds a target and he nods in their direction. “There. She definitely has a ton of money. Look at all the stones on that necklace! They’re huge!”

“They’re also fake,” Rhodey says.

Tony hums in agreement.

“What?” Peter’s eyebrows knit together. “How do you know?”

“We make a lot of fake jewelry, mostly diamonds,” Tony says. “There are differences you can spot. Maybe I can show you the lab when we get back.”

“That’s so cool,” Peter breathes. 

There’s a little bounce in his next few steps. Tony bites the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling at the kid’s enthusiasm.

“But let’s say the gems were real. What would you do next?”

Tony fully expects Peter to stick to the orphan thing, or the classic ‘Help! I’m lost!'. He even has speech starting to formulate in his mind about how there are better alternatives.

“I would ask her if she’s seen a guy in with gray hair, about 6’3.”

Tony squints at him. “Why?”

“Well,” Peter’s voice changes, becomes a little more similar to the one he used on the plane, though not quite as high. “My dad was supposed to meet me. We were going to have lunch at that stand over there.”

“And what about when she takes you to one of the boardwalk patrol people?”

“She won’t,” Peter says. “Look at her. She’s in a hurry.”

Sure enough, the woman in question is almost out of sight, weaving through the crowd and pushing anyone that she can't get around out of her way without so much as an apology. 

“So, what about when she just holds up a hand and keeps walking?”

Peter grabs Tony’s arms, his eyes growing impossibly large. “Please, ma’am, my mom’s not answering her phone either and she’s the one who dropped me off and I don’t know what to do!” He lets go and shrugs. “I think I could get a twenty, probably.”

It’s a solid plan. The kid’s not bad, Tony will give him that.

“When’d you start doing this stuff?” he asks.

“Few months ago.”

“A few months?” Rhodey echoes. “We were absolute awful for our first _year_. I was too worried about being caught and Tony was too abrasive—pissed everybody off. You must be a natural.”

Tony frowns. “I wouldn’t say everybody—“

“It’s not like that.” Peter’s squirming a little, clearly uncomfortable with Rhodey’s praise. “It’s just playing pretend."

“Yeah." Tony replies after a beat. Guess it is."

They've reached the end of the boardwalk, so Tony finds an empty spot on the railing and leans his forearms onto it. Rhodey bumps Tony's side before resting an elbow on his left shoulder. Peter joins on Tony's right. The water laps at the wooden pillars below them, sea gulls chirp overhead. He imagines what an outside thinks of the three of them, standing together. They probably look like a family.

It could probably open a few doors for them—make a good con.

“There is a flaw though. In your little plan.”

Peter looks over at Tony, affronted. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“Your dad—6’3? Who’s buying that, Fun Size?”

Peter’s jaw drops and he starts spluttering. “I—no—I’m not done growing! You’re short!”

Tony throws back his head in laughter. Then a hand rises and lands on Peter’s head, tousling his hair until some of it is flattened over his eyes. It’s like he’s watching the motion on a screen. Then he realizes that the hand is his own.

He pulls it away and shoves it in his pocket. An alarm bell is blaring in his head. There are quite a few things that he could try to attribute it to—the kid has proven that he’s a damn good con artist. Tony could be letting himself get sucked in.

But he’s not an idiot. It’s not that and he knows it. He likes Peter, even though he barely knows the kid. A traitorous part of him wants nothing more than to keep him here—make the family of three that they probably look like a reality. Worse than the traitorous part is the pitiful, scared, corner of his brain that’s whining and pouting, telling him to retreat into himself because people always leave.

He catches Rhodey shooting him odd looks over Peter’s head for the duration of their time on the boardwalk. He pretends that he can’t see them.

* * *

Rhodey gives Tony the raised eyebrows and skeptical pinched lips of death when he suggests that they fly back to New York with Peter.

“We can check in on our east coast stuff,” Tony adds. “And spend a day or two with Pep.”

“You were just there. You know Pepper doesn’t like to see you more than once a month, tops.” 

“True. But you—” Tony pokes his finger into Rhodey’s chest. “Have not fulfilled your allotted Pepper visit this month. So really I’m doing you a favor.”

“No you’re not,” Rhodey says. “But whatever you have to tell yourself.”

Their flight lands at JFK at 7:00pm on Sunday night. Tony insists that they drive Peter to his apartment, as well. It’s hard to ignore Rhodey’s stupid eyebrows the whole ride there, but he manages to do it, electing to tune in, at least a little bit, to the kid’s ramblings about some decathlon event he has coming up. It doesn’t make much sense. Peter doesn’t strike him as the athletic sort. He can’t really envision him running for an extended length of time. Then he catches something about physics and everything clicks. It must be Academic Decathlon—makes makes more sense.

When the GPS says they’re a block away from the destination, the rambling switches from random stories to a stream of ‘thank you’s' that loop until the car’s stopped.

Tony watches the Jansport logo bounce around on Peter’s back until he reaches the door. He turns one last time, looking pleased when he sees that they haven’t driven away yet. His hand comes up in a final wave and then he slips inside, the door closing behind him a few moments later.

Tony’s eyes stay stuck on the door for a second. He sniffs once and sticks a smile on his face as he turns to Rhodey.

“See? No robbery this time.”

The muscles around Rhodey’s eyes twitch a little. On anyone else’s face, Tony would probably miss it. 

“What?” he asks, keeping the smile firmly planted.

Rhodey shakes his head and shifts the car into gear. “If we start begging Pep to let us in now, we might be inside by the time it gets dark.”

Tony hums in agreement and leans his head back against the seat, tilted slightly toward the window so that he can let the smile drop.

“It’s sort of quiet without him, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tony whispers.

* * *

Pepper’s exuding a crazed energy that Tony hasn’t felt from her in years when she opens the door.

“I’m so glad you two are here,” she gushes. Her hands start beckoning inside and then she whirls around, taking fast strides into her apartment.

Rhodey and Tony exchange a look before following.

She drops down into her desk chair and swivels around so she’s facing her computer. Her fingers fly across the keyboard until there’s an image of a painting on the screen. The first word that comes to Tony’s mind is 'Picasso', though he couldn’t explain why. There’s a woman’s head tilted to the side, blond hair, a beaded necklace draped across her neck, and half a breast peaking out from above her shirt.

“Look,” Pepper says, index finger tapping on it a few times. “You know what this is, right?”

Tony stares at it, trying to place it. When he comes up empty, he glances over at Rhodey whose face has the same blank expression that Tony’s sure he’s sporting as well.

“Let’s hypothetically say that we didn’t,” Tony ventures. “What does this, admittedly, quite intriguing, nip slip-have to do with us?”

Pepper’s lips thin into a very unimpressed line. 

“You’re the art expert, Pep,” Rhodey adds.

That seems to mollify her. She sighs and turns back to the picture. Tony catches something akin to longing on her face.

“This is Le Rêve. The Dream. Gorgeous, isn’t it? It’s a Picasso.”

“Picasso!” Tony exclaims, pointing. “That’s what I said! Well, thought. I thought it looked like Picasso.”

Pepper doesn’t even give him the satisfaction of looking up at his outburst. It used to be so easy to get her to glare or roll her eyes. Now, she’s immune to his antics. Figures.

“She’s going to be on display at the Met. Just for a couple of days.” Pepper scrolls down from the image and her eyes run across the screen. “In about a week. I think we can pull it off. 155 million. What do you guys say?”

“Yes,” Tony answers immediately.

Pepper rewards him with one of her genuine smiles, some of the insane energy from earlier creeping it.

“Okay, wait.” Rhodey raises his hands and gestures toward the screen. He opens his mouth and then closes it, hands landing on the sides of his head. “What? You two are being serious right now?”

“Keep up, darling.” Tony holds his hands out toward the screen. “It’s an art heist!”

Rhodey glares at him. “I know it’s an art heist. I also know that’s not really our speciality. And it’s a famous painting, right? What do we even do with it?”

“Pep wants it, right, Pep?” Tony holds his hand up to the wall like he’s seen artist-types do in movies. “She could hang it right over there.”

A blush rises high on Pepper’s cheeks. “I mean, we could find a black market buyer. I have some contacts, we could split the—”

“It’s not about the money,” Tony declares. “This is about legacy. Think about it, Rhodey! No crime classier than art theft.” He grabs Rhodey’s collar and tugs it toward him, so that their temples are touching and then sweeps his other hand in the air in front of them. “Just picture it. We’ll be infamous.”

He can feel the moment that Rhodey agrees. He leans a little more into Tony, and his face stretches into a smile wide enough that Tony can feel his cheek press into his own. There will still be some push-back, of course. Rhodey won’t want to admit that he’s swayed so easily, but Tony knows that the heist is on. 

“You’ve got him into one of his states, Pep,” Rhodey grumbles.

Tony pulls his head away and grasps his shoulders instead. “Come on, when’s the last time we did something out of our comfort zone? Just for the thrill of it?”

Pepper clasps her hands together and shakes them. “Come on, James, have some fun!”

Rhodey’s head snaps to her. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I really want this painting.”

Tony reaches up and tilts Rhodey’s head back towards him. “It’ll be her birthday gift this year. We won’t have to spend ages worrying about what to get her.”

Rhodey closes his eyes and sucks in a long breath. He lets it out just as slowly. Tony starts tapping his foot impatiently.

“Alright. Fine. Sold,” he finally says.

“Yes!” Tony pumps a fist in the air and then leans up onto his tiptoes to give Rhodey a quick peck.

Pepper’s face breaks out into a grin that she covers by steepling her hands in front of it. Tony jogs over to her and lifts her into the air, spinning her around happily.

“A week to plan a heist in the fucking Met.” Rhodey runs his hands over his head and then leaves them clasped behind it. “We’ve done a lot of batshit things, but this is insane. The two of you realize that this is insane, right? I expect this from him, but not from you, Pepper. Jesus.”

Pepper’s eyes go back to the painting on her computer screen. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe we can grab a few others while we’re in there.”

“What—are you—have—more than one?”

Tony claps his hands a few times. “This is going to be so much fun!” 

* * *

Planning goes awry pretty quickly. The Met is large. It’s also heavily guarded. And has lots of alarms.

“If we want a shot, we need to get someone in the control room. So that they can see everywhere, and hopefully fuck with the cameras so that they won’t be able to find us on footage.” 

“Two need to go to the painting.” Rhodey bumps Tony with his knee under the desk, a clear sign that he thinks it should be them. Tony has to agree, but they’re both pretty biased in the matter. They’ve worked together for most of their lives. 

Tony traces a path through the floor-plan, circling camera’s that need to be diverted, noting their numbers on his tablet.

“We still need someone waiting with the car,” Pepper pipes up. “Can just one grab the painting?”

“I don’t love that idea,” Rhodey mutters. “The painting is pretty big. Carrying it out of there would be difficult.”

“So we need another person, then,” Pepper interrupts.

Tony taps his fingers on the desk. “I call not making the call.”

Rhodey snaps his first two fingers up to his nose. Tony copies him. They both turn to Pepper.

"You're children," she mutters, picking up her phone.

Happy doesn’t answer on the first call. Or the second. He finally picks up after they start leaving voicemails that are just their three voice pleading.

“No,” he says simply before hanging up.

“I don’t think he’s over last time,” Pepper says sadly.

“Still?”

“Apparently.”

“What now?” Rhodey asks. “I guess we could have just one person go to the painting—”

Rhodey keeps thinking out loud, going over the logistics and odds of sending a person in alone. Tony’s mind turns to other things. Namely a request. From a certain teenager.

“Or,” he cuts in. “We could get a replacement.”

Pepper laughs. “Who?”

Rhodey isn’t laughing. He looks like he knows exactly what Tony’s thinking.

* * *

Tony parks in front of Peter’s apartment building. He stands on the sidewalk and leans back onto the car door. After he receives a few suspicious glances, he pulls his phone out and starts to idly tap, internally trying to decide how long he can lurk without looking like an absolute creep and prompting a call to law enforcement.

In the end, he doesn’t find out the true answer. All he knows is that it’s greater than seventeen minutes, because that’s when Peter emerges from the building.

The kid looks down the sidewalk both ways, then up to the top of the his building before shoving his hands in his pockets and trudging over to Tony.

“Hi, Mr. Rhodes,” he says when he gets close enough. “What’s—what’s going on?”

“Parker.” Tony adjusts his sunglasses, pinching the edges with his fingers. “Care to join me for a ride?”

“That sounds vaguely threatening.” Peter glances back up the apartment building once more. When he turns back around there’s a smile on his face. “But, the blinds to my aunt’s room are still closed, so, sure.”

Tony’s conflicted between relief because he doesn’t have a back-up plan and some kind of low-grade horror that Peter’s once again agreeing to get in a car with a virtual stranger. The kid’s too trusting. He’s going to get himself in a situation that he can’t talk his way out of one of these days.

“Have you rethought my offer then?” Peter asks as the engine kicks in and Tony pulls out onto the street.

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Offer?”

“You know, to be my mentor.”

“Right, right, ‘offer’. No.” He tilts his head to the side, reconsidering it. “Actually, kind of.” 

Peter leans forward so fast that his seat-belt locks. He winces and sits back slowly before trying again, twisting to get a clear look at Tony’s face. “Are you serious?”

“That depends on you, kiddo. Where does art heist fall on that moral scale of yours?”

His mouth falls open and shut a few times.

Tony looks away to allow him time to recover from whatever difficult calculations he is trying to make. 

“Um,” Peter says finally, as if the conversation hadn’t just experienced a five minute lag in which he did a solid impression of a goldfish. “It falls under really freaking cool.”

Tony glances over at Peter, and nods. “You in then? Ten k sound good? You can do quite a bit of your Robin-Hooding with that, I’m sure.”

“Dollars?” Peter’s voice rises into a high squeak half-way through the word. He clears his throat and messes with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I mean. Dollars. Yes. Yeah. Ten k works for me. You won’t regret this, Mr. Rhodes, I—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony waves his hand. “You got a license?”

“A license for—?”

“To kill,” Tony says, deadpan, just to watch the color drain from Peter’s face. “It’s a joke. To drive, Parker.”

“Oh! Er, no.”

“Okay. Have any practice?”

“No. But I can learn! Am I the getaway car? This is so cool.”

Tony lets his eyes shut for a minute. He can hear Rhodey in his head again, telling him that this is a terrible idea. 

“What museum are you robbing? Are you just taking one painting? I didn’t know you were an art guy.”

“It’s a birthday gift. For a friend. You’ll meet her soon.”

“That’s nice. Kind of.” Peter clenches his fists to his chest and wiggles a little bit. “I know I shouldn’t be pumped about committing a massive crime, but this is kind of exciting. Thanks for trusting me, Mr. Rhodes. I won’t let you down.”

Tony glances over out of the corner of his eye, keeping his head facing forward. Peter’s shining a wide grin at him. Tony sniffs a little to keep himself from mirroring it, surprised to find how pleased he is by the sentiment. 

It doesn’t take any prompting from Tony for Peter to launch into more questions about the heist. Tony’s not sure if he’s actually looking for answers. He certainly doesn’t wait for them, each question just bleeding into the next, his mouth moving a mile a minute. Tony tunes him out after the third question, but the background noise is almost comforting. He missed it. Kind of.

* * *

“Alright,” Tony whispers. He’s not sure why he’s being so quiet. They’re still in the car. Nobody can hear them—not yet. “Everyone ready? No cold feet, right?”

Three sets of heads shake with varying degrees of confidence. Peter’s practically vibrating with excitement. Pepper keeps wringing her hands together. Rhodey kind of looks like he’s about to shit his pants, but there’s a glint of something more dangerous behind his eyes. Tony will take it.

“Last run through.” Tony swivels toward Peter and points at him. “Go ahead, kid.”

“I’m going to sit right here.” Peter pats the steering wheel. His words are quick and rehearsed, almost verbatim from Tony’s original rundown. “I’ll keep the car running. When Pepper tells me, I’ll drive around to the back and wait about 100 feet from the exit. You guys will get in the car and I’ll drive away.”

“A star pupil, this one.” Tony plucks the far-too-conspicuous black beanie off his head and then throws it at him. Peter beams up at him as he yanks it back down over his hair. Tony quickly points to Pepper. “Next.”

She holds up the drive that he gave her before they left. “Control room’s the third door down the right hallway on the ground floor. I incapacitate the guards inside, plug this guy in and let it work its Tony-magic. Then I stage an alarm on the fifth floor, divert all attention, and signal you two inside. Watch you on the monitor, signal Peter when you’ve secured Le Rêve.”

“Incredible, as usual.” Tony slings his arm over Rhodey’s shoulder. “The rest of the team is on their game, Jimbo, don’t mess this up.”

“We go in. Grab the painting. Get the fuck out.”

“Short and sweet.” Tony shrugs. “Works for me.

Rhodey’s mouth twists into a half-smile, half-grimace, something fond, but with unmistakable traces of annoyance. It’s not unfamiliar. Tony knows that Pepper and Happy call it his Tony-face behind their backs.

The watch on his wrist beeps once. All of their eyes hone in on it.

“You’re up, Pep.”

She nods and scoots over to the door. “Good luck, boys.”

Tony flashes her a thumbs up as she hops out and closes the door. Peter presses his face to the window, his breath hitting it and puffing up the glass. 

“This is insane,” he mumbles, but when he turns around his eyes are bright as ever, no trace of him backing out. 

“She’s got this.” Rhodey sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “She can do it. Come on, Pepper.”

Tony swats his shoulder before crossing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his seat as far as it will go. “You’re so uptight. You’ve got to relax.”

He closes his eyes and starts humming to demonstrate just how relaxed he is, but despite the display, he can feel his heart pounding uncomfortably hard in his chest. 

The transmitters that Tony rigged up in Pepper’s garage start to cackle. Pepper’s grainy voice comes through them a moment later. “I’m plugging in the drive. Camera’s down in three, two, go.”

Rhodey grabs Tony’s hand and squeezes it. “That’s our cue.”

He makes his way out of the car with a groan. Tony follows and then pauses, turning back to the car and motioning for Peter to roll the window down. Once it’s open, he sticks his head inside.

“If this goes south, you know what to do right?”

Peter’s eyes widen as if the reality of the situation is sinking in for the first time. His head slowly shakes back and forth.

“Get out of here, ditch the car somewhere and then get home. Lie low for a while.”

His eyes snap from the widened position to tiny slits. “What? No!”

“Number one rule, kid. Consider it your first lesson. No reason for all of us to get caught. It’s everyone for themselves in the end with this gig.”

“But—”

“Nope.” 

Tony turns and jogs to catch up with Rhodey. If Peter says anything more, he doesn't hear it.

They find their planned entrance and Tony eases the door open. He can feel Rhodey holding his breath behind him. When no alarm goes off, Tony grins over his shoulder and slips inside, Rhodey following suit. They pull the door shut and stand with their backs against the wall.

“Is this the adrenaline rush you were looking for? Because I’m going to have a heart attack by the end of the night,” Rhodey mumbles.

“Shut up. You love this. I know you do.” 

Tony keeps his back against the wall and slides along it, peeking around the corner to where there should be a guard’s station. There is, just as there had been on the map, but it’s empty. 

“I could kiss Pepper right now, truly.” He presses his earpiece. “Did you hear that, Pep, I said I could kiss you.”

“Spare me,” her voice sounds as disinterested and unaffected as ever. She really does have nerves of steel, more so than Tony and Rhodey do. It’s incredible. “Now, focus. Rhodey, make him focus.”

Rhodey jabs at the squishy flesh in Tony’s side. Not too hard, but he makes a show of doubling over anyway. “Hey! I’m focused. I’m focusing.”

“The floor’s clear as far as I can tell. Get to the stairwell past the guard’s station.”

Tony follows Rhodey across the hall, bent in a slight crouch, sticking close to the walls, just in case. Rhodey pulls the stairwell’s door open and freezes when the hinges squeak. Tony glances back and forth down the hallway and nods. Then they dart inside and bound up the stairs together.

“There’s still one guard patrolling the third floor,” Pepper says. “He didn’t leave with the others when I set off the alarm on five.”

“What’s our plan, then?” Rhodey whispers.

“The painting is in the center. I’ll tell you when he’s in the back hallways. He shouldn’t have a clear view of the display area from back there. I timed it on his last go around. There’s about twenty-seven seconds where he won’t be able to see you. So, in and out in twenty-five to be safe?”

All of the tension in Rhodey’s face eases. It leaks out of him, until all that’s left is effortless determination. This is his specialty. He’s Mr. Rational during planning and he’ll freak out to no end on the ride over, but when it comes down to it, he’s at his best in the crunch time, when he has to accomplish the seemingly impossible. 

He looks over at Tony and it’s vibrant, electric, as if he’s daring him to call it off, as if Tony ever would. It’s exhilarating to watch him like this. Twenty years ago, Tony would have pinned him down in the stairwell, but despite what people like to say, he has matured over the years. He settles for patting Rhodey’s shoulder a few times and giving him a devilish grin that his lips curve up to match. Tony sticks his pinky up and raises it until it’s centered between their noses. Rhodey clasps it with his own so tight that their arms shake.

Tony scrunches his nose. “We’re ready. Just let us know when.”

“Alright. You’ve got about ten seconds. He’s a few feet from the turn. Okay, here we go, boys. Three, two, go ahead. Be smart.”

“Always,” Tony and Rhodey whisper, nearly at the same time.

“Good luck, Mr. Rhodes—es? Mr. Rhodeses,” Peter chirps.

Rhodey switches his grip to haul Tony to his feet and then they’re off, half-jogging from the stairwell to the center display room. 

As soon as they turn the corner, the painting that they’re here for is obvious. It’s hanging in the center of the back wall. Even in the darkness of the room, Tony can make out the striking colors. A rectangular glass casing sits over it, protecting it from any damage, or, well, thieves. There’s a banner next to it, announcing the piece’s name, it’s story, and the time that it will spend at the Met.

There’s a perimeter around it, not a visible one, but a silent alarm is supposed to sound if anyone gets too close to a painting. The code that he had Pepper upload into their systems is supposed to prevent that from happening. It should work. Most things that Tony makes do. He can feel his heart threatening to escape into his throat anyway.

They ease forward, trying to straddle quick and careful. Tony starts holding his breath at some point and doesn’t let it out until Pepper’s voice confirms that the alarm wasn’t triggered in his ear.

“Twelve seconds,” she adds. “Snatch it and go.”

Tony lets his bag fall down his shoulder and takes out the relevant tools, sliding them to Rhodey, who starts working on the display case.

The slight static of open airwaves starts up in Tony’s ear. He tips his head to the side and taps it with his palm a few times.

“Pep?” he whispers. “Pete?”

“What?” Peter says.

“Okay, don’t panic,” Pepper says, the calm cadence of her voice unchanging.

Rhodey’s head snaps to Tony. He raises his shoulders in a shrug.

“Why, exactly, aren’t we panicking?”

“When you started touching it—there’s—well, it’s tripped an alarm.”

“Shit,” Rhodey hisses, immediately removing his hands. “Does that stop it?”

Tony shakes his head, staring up at the painting. The damage is already done. They can’t undo the alarm. Pepper confirms it a moment later.

They’re frozen in place for a moment. Tony can feel Rhodey’s eyes on him but can’t bring himself to look over. He’s still stuck on the painting, trying to figure out why his program in the drive didn’t disable all alarms like it was supposed to. The place must have some sophisticated security—something he missed. He should have switched roles with Pepper. If he was at one of their computers, he could have looked at their protocols and would have been able to catch—

“What happens now?” Peter’s voice sounds so scared, so young. Tony shouldn’t have brought him into this.

The words are enough to kickstart Rhodey into motion. He grabs Tony’s wrist and yanks him toward the nearest exit out of the room. When they’re no more than five yards away, the sound of one of the stairwell doors slamming open echoes through the empty halls and resounds off the high ceilings.

Rhodey switches directions, pulling Tony down in between two display cases.

“Parker,” Tony mutters, as quiet as he can, while still allowing the microphone to pick up the noise. “Remember what I said. Get the fuck out of here. You too, Pep.”

“Unfortunately, I’m a little hung up at the moment, too.” Pepper’s voice is low and breathy, like she’s been running. 

Rhodey curses and combs his hands over his head before leaning closer into Tony’s side.

“Alright, then. All you, kid. Floor it.”

“I can’t just leave you guys!”

“Sure you can. Right’s the gas. Just like you practiced.”

There are footsteps in the room now. They seem too loud to be real, like the guards are stomping just to set Tony’s nerves even more on edge. His fingers dig subconsciously into Rhodey’s bicep. 

“I’m sorry.” There’s a slight constriction in the back of his throat. He swallows it down.

Rhodey leans his head onto Tony. “Shut up. It’s not your fault.”

“It sort of is.” Tony breathes out a chuckle. “This sucks. We’re too pretty for jail.”

A startled, kind of hysterical, laugh-grunt bursts out of Rhodey before he angles his head so his mouth is pressed into Tony’s shoulder. 

A flashlight hits the display case across from them. Tony cringes and urges his body to blend into the one that they’re leaning against.

“Never a dull moment, Tones,” Rhodey murmurs.

“Well, that’s what I promised you.”

The footsteps sound closer every second, definitely approaching their hiding place. The bright spot of the flashlight’s beam grows incrementally wider.

And then, inexplicably, it stops. The footsteps do, too. The guard’s exchange a few hushed words that Tony can’t quite catch. Then the footsteps resume, but this time in the other direction, growing softer. Then, silence.

Tony and Rhodey untangle themselves slowly. They take even more time to rise to their feet. Rhodey’s the one who pokes his head around the side of the display case first. When he looks back at Tony, he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed.

“They’re gone.” He reaches down and picks up some of their discarded tools from the ground. “Let’s finish this.”

“What?” Tony throws his hands up. “You still want to grab it? Let’s just get out of here!”

“It’s Pepper’s birthday present! We can’t just leave it.”

“And you were calling us crazy,” Tony mumbles, leaning against the wall as Rhodey starts dismantling the glass case.

He makes quick work of it this time, then pries the painting off the wall and hoists it above his head. Tony grabs the other end of it and they take off—as fast as they can with the extra weight—into the stairwell, then down the steps, taking them two and three at a time. Tony exits the first, just as someone else runs past and then skids to a stop.

The figure turns around. Tony sighs in relief as the strawberry blond pony-tail swings to the side. 

“Tony,” Pepper breathes, running forward, about to throw her arms over his shoulders, before she looks up at the painting. “You guys are insane.”

“Rhodey’s insane. He pretends he’s not, but he is. We’re also awesome. Really fucking awesome,” Tony says.

“Only if we pull this off,” Rhodey points out. “Let’s get to the car.”

They take off sprinting, a sharp right, then burst out the door. The car is parked right where Tony instructed Peter to have it in the original plan. He can’t stop the warm pride that starts to glow red-hot in his chest. The kid may be a pain at times, and he clearly doesn’t listen to direct orders to abandon ship, but he makes a good not-mentee.

Tony slings the backseat door open and dives inside, scooting as far in as he can, then turning and helping to pull the painting inside. Rhodey and Pepper scramble in after and Pepper slams the door shut. Their heavy breathes overlap as they slump back against the seats.

“Drive,” Tony says between gasps.

There’s no response. And the car doesn’t move.

Tony lunges forward, shortness of breath forgotten, to peer around the front seat.

It’s empty.

Tony sucks in a breath, exhales it as he slaps his hand down on the leather of the seat.

“He must have done something.” Tony laces his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots. “Of course the guard’s didn’t just magically walk away. He must have gone in. Triggered another alarm—damnit.”

The car falls into silence. The only sound is Pepper’s foot tapping on the car-mat.

Tony turns to Rhodey. “I have to—”

“I know.” He sighs. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” Tony holds up his hand. “You know the rules. We both go in there, we both get caught. What’s the point?”

“Well, that rule’s already been broken tonight. Twice. What’s once more? I’m coming.”

“Just stay here, please. I can’t—“

“I don’t want to stay here.”

“No—”

“Tony—”

“ _James._ ” He watches Rhodey’s eyes bulge with some satisfaction. He’s never called him James before, not even on the first day they met.

Behind him, Pepper squints at Tony and then starts to crawl over the console into the front seat.

Tony grabs Rhodey’s hands. “I love you. Sorry about this. Drive, Pep.”

He lets go of Rhodey’s hands and throws himself backward out of the car, slamming the door shut in one fluid motion.

Pepper listens and the car takes off down the street.

“Sorry,” he repeats to the taillights.

He doesn’t envy the stone cold silent treatment that Pepper will have to sit through on the ride back. He’ll have hell to pay for it later—from both parties.

He presses his earpiece. “Alright, Parker. Where are you?”

“Mr. Rhodey?” Peter’s voice wavers a little.

“For now,” Tony confirms. He starts walking back toward the entrance they escaped through, even though every ounce of logic in him is screaming to run in the opposite direction. “How about a little update, since you decided to go off-script?”

There’s a sharp inhale that sounds suspiciously wet. Tony freezes with his hand poised a few inches from the door handle. He glances over his shoulder. There’s still time to bail out. He didn’t sign up for tears.

“I’m on the second floor,” Peter whispers. “In a janitor’s closet.”

Tony can’t bring himself to let the kid be found in a janitor’s closet. He steels himself and pushes the door open, then slinks toward the main security room. 

There’s a skinny rectangular window on the door. The first thing that Tony sees through it is the pair of guards on the floor that Pepper must have knocked out. Then he notices another guard, leaning over one of the computers to squint at the camera feeds. 

Tony jiggles the knob. It doesn’t budge. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. Then he steps back and angles his head to stare down at his feet.

The guard opens the door thirty seconds later. “What—”

Tony steps forward and kicks him in the groin, rendering the guy doubled over and gasping. Tony pushes him back into the room, snatching the walkie talkie out of his belt when he goes to reach for it. He knees the guy in the shin and then kicks him in the chest, leaving him in a heap next to his two friends on the ground. He tries to get up, but Tony grabs the nearest chair and smashes it down onto his head.

He gives himself half a second to admire his handiwork. Pepper and Rhodey would be proud.

He sinks down into the next wheeled chair, scoots over to the computer screen the guy had been sitting at and starts typing. He disables the alarms currently triggered on the ground floor and floor two and restarts the one back on the third floor, where Le Reve was.

He swivels to watch the camera feeds. A little over half of the guards leave Peter’s floor in favor of floor three.

The remaining two on the second floor enter a display area. Tony types a few more lines of code, pulling up security protocols for the room. He grins at the results, taps in a few commands and a gate falls from the ceiling, sealing the display off from the rest of the floor and trapping the guards behind it.

Tony wiggles his fingers happily. “Alright, Parker. I cleared your floor. Meet me where you left the car.”

He slings his bag over his shoulder and strides out of the room.

“You didn’t have to come back for me.”

“Gee, should have told me before I did just that.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Get down here.”

“Go ahead without me,” Peter replies after a long pause.

Tony exits the building, relief flooding through him once again as the open air hits his face. “Relax, I’m already outside.”

“You can keep going. Don’t wait for me.”

“Just get moving, kid.”

There’s a roaring sound that’s probably just Peter scuffling around and then the feed falls silent. Tony sighs and taps his foot against the concrete, glancing down at his watch. If Peter doesn’t hit any snags, he should be able to get downstairs and out in the door in less than three minutes. 

When the second hand has traveled around the watch’s face at least five times, Tony starts tapping his foot faster. He can hear sirens. They’re distant right now, and could be for something else entirely, but the cops will be showing up at some point. Alarms have been triggered all over the Met and a painting is missing. Tony wonders if any of the guard’s have noticed that yet. They must have. He sent them to the that floor to get Peter out.

But the kid’s nowhere to be seen. Tony tugs the ski-mask over his face and strips off the gloves, plucking one finger at a time, then throwing them in his bag. He wrings his hands and finds them sweaty, so he wipes them down the front of his shirt a few times. 

He shouldn’t stay here much longer—with or without the kid. If the cops show up and find him loitering behind the Met, it will be bad news. He can’t see a version of reality where he talks himself out of that one. 

He taps his fingers on his earpiece. “Alright, Parker. What’s the hold up? You can browse the gift-shop another time.”

He’s met with silence. Tony’s heart has been beating too fast for the whole night, but now it kicks into a different gear.

“Peter? You there?”

The long stretch of silence from the kid’s end continues for a few more seconds and then there’s a small, defeated, “Yeah. I’m here.”

Tony closes his eyes and rubs them a few times. “Okay, good, that’s good. Quick question—what’s going on right now?”

“You’ll laugh,” Peter mutters bitterly.

“Would you rather bruise your pride or go to jail?”

It’s something that Rhodey has said to him a hundred times. Tony never thought that he would be turning the phrase on someone else. It sits hypocritically on his tongue.

A few mumbled syllables filter through the earpiece. Tony raises his eyebrows. “What was that?”

“I’m locked in,” Peter repeats with a little more clarity.

Tony blinks. “How?”

“I don’t know! This door is messed up. It wasn’t locked from the outside.”

“Okay.” Tony runs his hand over his stubble. “There’s got to be something in there you can pick it with. Any type of card?”

“I don’t know!” The hysterical, heavy quality is creeping into his voice again. “It’s dark. I can’t really see. And I don’t know how to pick a lock. I’ve never robbed a museum before. I’ve never robbed anything! I just get people to give me stuff!”

“Jesus.” Tony looks between the door back into the museum and the open road. Another round of sirens starts up. They sound closer this time.

It would be insane to go back into the museum. He’s already pushing his luck, having gotten out twice. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? We’re running out of time.”

“Just leave me, okay? But when they cart me off to jail will you just make sure that May’s alright. You know, just in case.”

“Fucking hell,” Tony murmurs, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t go to jail. How old are you? Fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” Peter replies, as if that distinction is important right now.

Tony gives the road one last look, lets his eyes wander up to the sky for a moment. It’s really nothing special. Can’t see the stars in the city, anyway. 

He opens his bag and pulls the gloves back onto his hands, then yanks the mask back down over his face, adjusting it so that he can see. “Sit tight, kid. I’m coming.”

“No, Mr. Rhodes—”

“Enough with that crap. Mr. Rhodes is my father-in-law. Lovely man, but old. I’m not old. If I’m risking my life to save your ass, you’re going to call me by my first name.” Tony jogs back into the building and over to the nearest staircase. “Where’s this closet you’re in?”

He follows Peter’s vague instructions as best as he can until he’s standing in front of a door that he prays is the janitor’s closet and not a room filled to the brim with guards. 

Tony hesitates, fingers wavering above the door handle. He grits his teeth, then grabs it and twists. The door opens easily, revealing a broom, a shelf full of cleaning supplies, and one Peter Parker.

His mouth drops into a surprised ‘o’. “You’re here.”

“I said I would be.”

Peter’s eyes dart back and forth. “I know, but you also said that I’m not your apprentice, like, a lot of times, and you had that whole rule about not going back in for people and—”

“Enough.” Tony makes a zip-it motion in front of his mouth. “You can talk all you want once we get out of here. I’m going to regret saying that. Let’s go.”

Tony holds the door open and Peter rises to his feet with some difficulty. His steps seem a little uneven. Tony ignores it until he realizes that Peter’s not keeping up with him. He glances over his shoulder and frowns. 

“Are you limping?”

“No?” Peter says and then shakes his head. “I mean, yes. But it’s not a big deal.”

“What happened? Nevermind. Later.”

“I twisted my ankle,” Peter supplies anyway.

“Of course you did.”

“Hey,” Peter frowns and takes a few more stilted steps. “It’s not my fault. I’m clumsy.”

Tony opens the stairwell door, wincing at the way Peter hobbles through it. His approach to the stairs is even slower, leaning heavily on the railing and grimacing sheepishly up at Tony.

They finally reach the bottom. Tony can nearly taste the night air—he’s already caught wafts of it multiple times tonight. There’s nothing like it, the wind hitting your face, cooling you down from the high of escape.

But the window on the back door is painted with flashing lights. Hazy red and blue hues filtering through the glass. Tony squints and then covers his eyes.

“Is that the police?” Peter squeaks.

“Nope. Just cars with lights. Haven’t you heard? Those are popular now.”

“Oh no. Oh no,” Peter repeats the phrase a few times, starts pacing back and forth. Tony reaches out to stop him. Just for his leg’s sake. He’ll hurt it up the more if he keeps putting weight on it. “This is my fault. I told you to leave! I’m so sorry.”

“Calm down,” Tony murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”

He jogs to the front of the building. There’s a similar situation—the flashing lights of about five squad cars. 

On his way back to Peter, he swings into the control room. To his satisfaction the guy he’d grappled with is still out cold. He strips off his own clothes and shoves them in his bag before sticking on the guy’s uniform.

Peter’s eyes narrow when Tony rounds the corner back to him. “What are you—“

“The thing you said earlier—about this not being your thing. You’re right. You’re a sweet-talker. So am I, at least that’s how I started out. So that’s how we’re going to get out of this.” Tony starts picking at his hair, trying to make it look a little less like it’s been smooshed down in a mask for the better part of the evening.

“So, what? We’re just going to walk out the front door?”

“Exactly.” Tony yanks off Peter’s beanie and shoves it in his bag as well. “You’re my son, alright? Troubled. Took you to my night shift to keep you from getting into some mischief. Hurt your ankle so I’m trying to get you to the ER.”

Peter’s face transforms into a slow grin. “Aw. This is the second time I’ve been your son. That’s sweet.”

“Seriously? You’re going to go there right now?” Tony cuffs him on the back of the head. “You know what? I’m downgrading you.”

“To what?”

* * *

“Who’s this, then?”

“My sister’s kid. Real piece of work.” Tony feels Peter glaring. When the officer looks down to scribble something on his notepad, Tony sticks his tongue out at him.

The cop taps the clicker of his pen a few times “Why is he with you at work?”

“Like I said—piece of work. My sister’s out of town. Doesn’t trust him alone. You know what kids are like these days. I’m sure you deal with them all the time. Ungrateful, reckless, never follow directions.”

The scowl on Peter’s face deepens as the officer nods along. “I’ve got one myself. Real pain in the ass at times.”

Tony shoots Peter a subtle thumbs up behind his back. “I hear that. Could be this one’s middle name. But you love ‘em anyway, right? He took a spill up there in the commotion and I’m afraid his ankle could be broken. Is there any chance we could wrap this up, Officer? I want to get him to the ER.”

The cop hesitates, taps his pen a few times before shrugging. “I’ve got your statement. Could I get a number in case there are any questions?”

Tony rattles off a fake and then throws an arm around Peter, helping him walk out of the parking lot.

“No way,” Peter says, glancing over his shoulder then back at Tony then over his shoulder again. “No fucking way.”

“Keep it down.”

“We’re just walking out. That was so simple!”

Tony can’t say that he agrees. He feels like he’s on the verge of passing out. But that’s not something the kid needs to be privy to.

“It always is, kid. Lesson—what number is this, you keeping track? I feel like I’ve taught you a lot tonight. When in doubt, revert to the basics.”

Peter grins. “Noted. Thanks, Teach.”

They’re far enough from the police cars that Tony can shove him away. “Shut up.”

He stumbles to the right and then laughs, continuing to limp along. Tony eyes the ankle. It doesn’t look horrifically misshapen or out of place. 

“Is that thing actually broken?”

“Nah, just twisted. I’ve had worse.”

“If you say so.”

Tony swings his backpack on his shoulder so that it’s in front of him, then fishes his phone out of the front pocket. He has about fifty texts and voicemails from Pepper, and even a few from Happy, who she must have called with an update.

He ignores those for now in favor of the single text from Rhodey.

_Okay?_

His finger hovers of their own accord over the keys for a few seconds before typing out the short, simple, answer. _Yes. Sorry._

 _Good._ It’s followed by a second message, _I’m not speaking to you._

_Is divorce on the table?_

_Never._

Tony bites his lip and pockets the phone. Then after a moment of thought, he pulls it back out.

_In that case, do you and Pepper fancy picking us up? We’re three blocks from the Met._

_You’ve got a lot of nerve._

* * *

They bring Peter back to his apartment the next day. Tony’s not sure why he gets out of the car and follows Peter inside the building. He sees Rhodey’s head tilt to the side when he reaches for the door handle. Even the kid thinks it’s weird. He keeps looking back at Tony with an odd expression on his face as they walk.

“What? Gotta make sure you don’t trip on the stairs and ruin the other leg.”

Peter’s face gains a pink tinge and he nods. 

When they reach the door of his apartment, Peter scuffs his foot along the ground. “I would invite you in, but it’d look kind of weird to my aunt, you know? She thought I spent the night at my friend Ned’s.”

“Yeah. Of course. Of course,” Tony trails off, watching Peter’s foot as it continues to trace shapes into the floorboards.

“So. Um.” Peter rubs the back of his neck before looking up. “Is this it then? No more museum—er, visits in the future?”

“‘Fraid we won’t be repeating that experience for a while,” Tony replies. 

“Well.” Peter sticks his key in the doorknob and starts fiddling with it. “If anything comes up. You know where to find me, I guess.”

“That I do.” Tony reaches in his pocket for the scrap of paper that he wrote on last night when he found himself in a semi-sentimental state fueled by relief and exhaustion. He runs his finger along the crease where he folded it once before making a decision.

He reaches forward and pats Peter’s shoulder, slipping the paper into his pocket as he pulls away. “Bye, kid. We’ll get 15k to you by the end of the week.”

Tony crosses his arms over his chest and goes back in the direction of the stairs.

“Fifteen!?” he hears Peter call when he’s halfway down the hallway.

“You did a little extra, you get a little extra, I’m a criminal, not an asshole. Use it to save the world, Robin Hood.”

He jogs the last few steps from the apartment to the car. He finds the door locked, and knocks on the window. There’s an audible click a moment later and this time when he tries the handle, the door swings open.

“Tony!”

He swivels around. Peter’s hanging out the window, holding the piece of paper in the air, and pointing at it. “I liked ‘Teach’. That felt right.”

Tony rolls his eyes and waves the kid off, then slides into the car and slams the door shut. Peter keeps waving from his window as they drive away. Tony just shakes his head.

“What did it say?” Rhodey asks. “The paper?”

Tony shrugs, but he can see the words in his head, the scrawl of his handwriting, black ink against white paper.

_I owe you a real lesson or two._

_310-789-4567 _

_-Call me whatever you want. Just don’t be smug about it._

**Author's Note:**

> I truly had a blast writing this one!! Thanks for reading :)
> 
> I’m on [tumblr!](https://peterparkrr.tumblr.com)


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